Worry
by kittycat69
Summary: One-shot. Annie's knuckles are white, fingers fisted against the keyboard, as the letters burn across her eyes. "You know how to get a hold of any of us. We'll always answer. We love you. I love you. -Auggie"


**So, YAG and I are at it again with our ill advised challenges. This time I had to write to the prompt 'Missing Time'. I ended up doing something based on an idea I had, which was "What if Annie, unable to bare the burden and pressure of her demanding career and personal life, up and left?" I imagine a big fight and a lot of determination on Annie's part to put the past in the past and leave it there. But what about Auggie's reaction to her leaving? Well, with that in mind, I spawned this beautiful oneshot right here. Feedback is appreciated beyond belief, and enjoy the fic! Thanks!**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Covert Affairs.

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><p><strong>Worry<strong>

France was nothing like America.

It wasn't about the culture, or the landscape, or the people—although these were very different too. It was the energy. The thrum of daily life, the ebbs and flows of the strains and stressors, joys and surprises that filled each and every day. And Annie absolutely loved it, because once in her life everything was smooth. Simple.

_Calm._

Happiness had become, for her, a swelling of a gentle, content feeling; Stress a slowly building hill rather than the spike of a mountain. She rolled out of bed each morning without the strain of knowing she couldn't linger, and she fell atop her pillow every night content in the fact that she wouldn't have to wake again until morning.

This morning, following one of those blissful nights, was an equally gentle morning.

Rolling to her side, Annie smiled sleepily at her alarm clock, her hand bating haphazardly for the snooze button. She would do this twice before she finally rolled out of bed, feet padding softly across the floor as she tottered into the bathroom of her tiny apartment in Paris. Rubbing a toothbrush across her teeth, she ran her fingers through tousled hair, reveling in the fact that the rush to get to work just isn't that much of a rush.

Afterwards she shrugs into jeans and a sweatshirt before scooping up her bag and heading downstairs, pausing along the way to bang on her roommates door. She shouts something obscene in response and Annie, grinning, continues on. She snatches an apple from the kitchen before heading out the door.

Her walk to work is seemingly effortless. Sure, she needs to get to work soon, but the worry of time, while there, is not something that spikes across her mind. Her legs move faster, but there is no urgent, front of the mind anxiety forcing her heart to race, breaths to come short.

Why worry if she's a little late? Who is waiting to meet her? What news is so urgent it just can't wait?

When she does finally slip into the building, quietly ducking her head as she takes the seat at her desk, the sheepish smile she flashes her eye-rolling coworker isn't filled with anything more than a simple _sorry, running late._ No _I know you were expecting me, I know you were waiting._

No _I'm sorry I didn't uphold my responsibilities._

During lunch, she'll gather with her small group of coworkers at the small bakery down the street, and they'll talk about everything and nothing, and not a word of it will matter beyond the end of the sentence that contains it. It's superfluous, flighty, light and gentle.

Annie can feel it roll and flow, and she doesn't once have to worry that any single thought will jab her, send her thoughts racing.

After lunch is the first time Annie will check her email, because absolutely nothing anyone has to say is going to have her worrying about checking it before now. Scrolling through the idle, electronic messages, chin in hand, Annie notes an email from a friend—she smiles—and a response from a apartment complex whose contracts she's been looking into—excitement blooms, soft and warm—and then she sees a message, subject line bare, from an unexpected source.

_Anderson, August._

Her heart skips a beat.

Annie frowns, idly rubbing her hands on her knees as she opens the email.

_Hey Annie._

The letters are bold and black, stark against a pale screen.

_I hope you're doing okay._

Annie can feel her heart beating, hard and fast against her ribs, and there's nothing calm, nothing gentle in this rush of feeling.

_I know it's been a while since I've written, and I'm sorry about that. It's just been a really busy year and everyone's struggling just to keep in touch with each other, and we work in the same building! And to make things even more complicated, the agency's started moving Stu and Reva up the 'cooperate ladder' (or something along those lines anyway) due to their…what did Stu call it? Academic prowess. Stu thinks this might mean he and Reva will end up with higher security clearance than me and Jai and everyone else here in the DPD. I'm not sure what that means for my tech department, but when I ask Joan about it, she usually just says we can cross that bridge when the time comes._

_Speaking of fighting, Reva and Jai are both adjusting well to their new relationship. Even though they bicker constantly! It can be a little awkward at times, and Stu likes to complain that they don't understand the concept of separating their personal lives from the work place very well, but they're getting better over time._

…_I know I promised I wouldn't keep bringing this up, but we miss you Annie. We really do. I understand why you did it, I really do, and I'm sorry for all those stupid hurtful things I said to you before you left (and before you decide to chew me out, trust me, Reva and Jai and Stu and Annie more than beat you to it). Maybe you could take one of my calls some time, so I can tell you in person—or, you know, not in text or email._

_Anyway, I was really writing because I wanted to say this—Annie, no matter how far away you are, you're never not a part of us. I think Jai said it best when he said we're not just fighting for all of the innocent people who don't know about it. We're doing it for each other. And even if you're not here, we're fighting for you, too._

_Well, I guess I should let you go. If you ever decide to write back, or call or whatever, you know how to get a hold of any of us. We'll always answer._

_We love you. I love you._

_-Auggie._

Annie's knuckles are white, fingers fisted against the keyboard, as the letters burn across her eyes. She'd received dozens of emails before this one, voicemails and text messages and letters covered in Reva's tidy writing and Jai's messy scrawl. Never before had she felt more than her determination that this would not be her life any longer before she deleted them, erased them, threw them in the river.

But now her heart hammered, her breath caught. She couldn't tell you what emotions she was feeling, only that they were spiking now, sharp and demanding across her mind. She couldn't push them aside, couldn't grasp any single one either. It was all a wild jumble that couldn't be settled with calm and these words don't matter beyond the moment I read them.

One of her coworkers calls her name, but she doesn't hear them. Jerking up, she hurries away, leaving her bag and computer and desk and confused coworkers behind. Exchanging glances, one of them follows, continuing to call after her.

She's exited the building and across the street before her coworker catches her and tries to figure out what's wrong. But Annie is struggling to compose herself, something her coworkers have never seen, and so the one brave soul who came to help is now left to only stand and watch as her friend spirals into a frenzy.

Annie is oblivious to her hapless friend. All she can think about is the stress, the fear, the never-ending burden of knowing, day after day, that the lives of all humanity rests on your shoulders. Suddenly, she's back in America, and every thought, action, everything that happens around her has to be filtered through this mass of emotional string, all pulled taught. Worry about work, being late, what to wear, where are my socks—all magnified by that single, enormous worry.

Just like her worry now, about what she should do—respond to Auggie's heartfelt message and open the gates to communication, or shut him down once and for all? Should she ignore the message completely, let them wonder forever if she even still exists so that she _can_ ignore them?

As she paces, tugging at her hair and letting her coworker fret unnoticed, a tiny thought flitters past—she can't believe that, after all this time, her friends are still thinking of her.

Without warning her mind grabs hold of this tiny idea with a suddenness that takes her breath away and leaves her staring at her concerned coworker, mouth open.

_We love you._

Emotion fills her, and it's not rolling or gentle or blooming. It's explosive, bursting through her every cell and out through her pores. Annie can't remember the last time she's felt something so powerfully _happy_.

And in that moment, it all makes sense.

When people's fate rests on your shoulders, your life becomes ruled by stress and fear, and it feeds every negative emotion that passes through you, builds it and warps it until you can barely recognize it for what it once was. And under the weight of it all, blinded and cornered by emotions that eventually all turn to rage, it can be easy to forget something simple—

Nothing is truly one sided. For every negative there is a positive, and from that whirlpool of negativity comes something amazing—moments of happiness, no matter how tiny, how fleeting, are magnified too.

_We love you._

Annie suddenly isn't sure if she ever noticed it before, but now it seems to terribly hard to miss. Every laugh, every smile, every hug, joke, and little moment of joy was full of a happiness that seemed always on the brink of uncontained. Always as wild and forceful, but in a way that could blind you to the darkness, if only for a few brief moments.

_We love you._

Annie isn't sure when the tears begin to roll down her cheeks, but she does nothing to wipe them away. She doesn't say anything to her coworker, either, as she walks calmly back to her desk, gathers her belongings, and walks away.

_I love you._

That night, Annie will pack her scant few most precious belongings, a few clothes, her savings, and her toothbrush. America is a long way from France, but she knows she can make it. Stealing into the night, she won't look back. Her heart will race, but she won't mind as she clings to every emotion like it's her last.

_I love you._


End file.
